


All the Stars in the Sky

by Imogen_Penn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I don't even know guys, It just kind of happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imogen_Penn/pseuds/Imogen_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes lab accidents end in ruined clothes and a smell that lingers for a week. Other time, they'll change your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Stars in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> So, EONS ago I asked for prompts on tumblr and got a lot of AWESOME ones. This one was from halftardishalftimelord who asked for Darcy in the new Star Trek. It spun out of control, got a little bit ridiculous, really didn't have all that much to do with Star Trek characters at all, and then I couldn't figure out how to end it. And then today I was looking through all my half finished junk, decided to just throw an ending on this bad boy and post it. So here you have it. Fair warning, it's a bit cracky. SHhhhhhhh. Just go with it.

She felt like she was going to hurl. That was the first thing she recognised as consciousness slammed into her like a negligent driver.

The second thing was a really intense feeling of “what the shit is this” because she was lying in front of a window and it was a goddamn sci-fi movie space scape outside.

So the first words out of her mouth, because she didn’t really come equipped with a filter, were “what the absolute _fuck_.” The second thing wasn’t so much words as it was actually hurling, but it certainly made her feel better.

“You about done Lewis?”

And wasn’t that both the least and most comforting voice she could have heard.

“I have no idea Barton,” she shot back at him heatedly, “you have any idea where we are?”

“No,” he admitted after a pause, “although given that Foster and Banner were playing with trans-dimensional matter in the lab when the explosion happened, I’m going to go with ‘nowhere good’.”

She was starting to dimly recall an explosion now, along with bruised elbows and a growing goose egg on the back of her head.

“You should take that internship with the astrophysicist, they said,” she grumbled under her breath, “it’ll be fun they said.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t exactly…” Barton started, but was cut off as the door to wherever it was they were opened with a whoosh and two men in red shirts pointing what seriously looked like electric razors at them burst in.

“Please place your hands on your head and identify yourself at once.” The voice was calm and practiced, and oddly polite. Darcy complied at once, throwing her hands up against her head. Barton rolled his eyes at her, but brought his own hands up slowly as well.

“I’m Darcy,” she finally said shakily, “and I have no _idea_ what the fuck I’m doing here.”

They must have noticed by her shaky voice and wide eyes that she was certainly not the one in charge here. They turned to Clint.

“Agent Clint Barton, special operative for SHIELD. We were involved in an accident in an experimental laboratory. All indications point to some sort of teleportation that left us here. I’d be much obliged if you’d let us know where here is and who you are?”

They lowered their weapons.

“Agent Barton,” one of them said respectfully, “I am Lieutenant Howlet and this is Ensign Raise. We are security officers on the federation star ship Enterprise. We are currently orbiting an as yet unnamed planet in the outer Rigel quadrant of the galaxy. Frankly, sir, it shouldn’t be possible for you to be here.”

“And yet,” said Clint wearily, like he found out he’d mysteriously wound up somewhere in deep space every other week and was getting kind of sick of it, dropping his arms and rolling to his feet.

“And yet,” the Lieutenant repeated with an amused grin, like space hitchhikers were not the weirdest shit he had ever seen. The whole situation was making Darcy incredibly uncomfortable, because this was _by far_ the weirdest shit she had ever seen. And she included Thor in that.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll escort you to some temporary quarters. I have no doubt the captain will want to meet you.”

Darcy found this suspiciously hospitable.

“And by temporary quarters, you mean?” she trailed off suggestively.

“I’m afraid that until you have been questioned and evaluated, we are forced to treat you as a threat. You will be confined to quarters for the time being.”

“Well,” she said tightly as Clint huffed like this had been obvious and offered her a hand up, “I’m not going to apologise about the vomit then.”

+

+

“So,” she said after pacing around the common room of their, admittedly rather nice, quarters slash jail cell, “you wanna go all Avengers on this situation and get us home?”

Barton was sitting on a weirdly shaped but oddly comfortable sofa with his head in his hands. “Just what the _fuck_ do you expect me to do, Lewis?” he said tightly.

“I don’t know, you’re all buddy buddy with those red suit guys. They weren’t looking at _you_ like you were crazy space debris. Talk to them, shoot them, do _something_.” She felt like she was going to vibrate right through the walls, which would be pretty bad because there was space outside. She was thinking about doing it anyways.

“They’re military,” he said in a clipped voice, “that’s all. They just understand the language of rank and protocol. Unlike you.”

It was a little bit mean, and it was a conversation, well argument, that they had had several times before.

“I _didn’t know_ I was supposed to stay on base,” she shrieked.

“You went for _slurpees_ in the middle of an armed assault and _I_ had to run out into that shit storm to pull your ass out of the fire Lewis.”

“You could have sounded the alarm or something,” she was right on the edge of something. It might have been more vomit.

“What the hell do I have to do to keep you from throwing yourself headfirst into danger goddamit! Will this fucking nightmare teach you to follow the rules if we _ever_ get home?” He surged upwards off the couch, taking a step towards her. His hands were shaking.

And she realised, with a dull and aching kind of shock, that Barton was exactly the same distance up shit creek that she was.

It was the last straw. Sure she and Barton didn’t get along all that well, mostly because whenever they met he was supposed to be in charge of her safety and did nothing but tell her what she couldn’t do. But it didn’t mean she didn’t _like_ the guy. More than like, sometimes, even though she always shoved it down. And, she realised belatedly, ever since he had flung himself through the broken window of that rapidly disintegrating 7-11, locked his arm around her waist in an iron grip, and got her the hell out of there, she had trusted him. She had trusted him without really thinking about it. She could take risks and be brave because he would be there to tell her when she was over the line.

But he didn’t have any idea how to keep her safe anymore. And those steady unflappable hands were shaking.

She collapsed back against the wall. Or, she supposed absently, it was probably a bulkhead. Her legs didn’t seem to want to support her anymore. She felt herself sliding down to the floor, but she could only concentrate on struggling to pull air into her lungs against what felt like a led weight on her chest.

“Awww, shit,” she heard Barton say vehemently, and then he was crouching in front of her, his hands gripping her knees.

“Look at me, Darce. Just focus,” he swam into sharpness in front of her. He looked nicer like this, she thought. He looked worried and human and a little worn around the edges. Less like a soldier, more like a man.

She took a gulping breath in and tried to concentrate on the solid feeling of her fingers wrapped around her knees.

“I’m sorry,” he said as her breathing started to level out. “I shouldn’t have yelled. Look,” he tightened his grip, “this may be a little outside of my training, but I can handle this okay? You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

He sounded like maybe he was trying to convince himself a bit too, but for the first time in _ever_ she wanted overly cocky take charge do what I say agent Barton back, so she nodded.

“Okay,” she tried to steady the wobble in her voice.

“Come on,” he said with a valiant attempt at a grin, “the couches in space are actually pretty comfortable.”

She had just let him pull her to her feet when a chime sounded and the door opened.

Two men were standing there politely, as if waiting to be asked into what was essentially a jail cell.

As she considered them carefully, the dark haired one on the right didn’t look exactly…human. Well. Wasn’t that just a kick in the pants.

“Agent Barton, Miss Lewis,” he said in a stiff and formal voice, “may we come in?”

Clint stepped in front of Darcy in a way that he made look almost casual. She could see that the two men at the door noticed it, but for once she didn’t give a crap about making any kind of “I can take care of myself” protest. She really couldn’t. Clint was the only one of the two of them who had any experience with aliens.

Clint nodded stiffly at them and the door swished shut behind them.

“Captain Jim Kirk,” the blonde one on the left said in an awfully jovial tone, “and you two are the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.”

The dark haired man, alien, guy, whatever raised an impressively imperious eyebrow. “And this,” the Captain continued, “is my first officer Mr. Spock.”

Spock nodded severely.

“He is slightly less impressed by your impossible space-jump.”

She decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this sort of a situation, or something, so she let Clint do most of the talking as they sat and tried to explain what had happened.

Mr. Spock got a little less intimidating as the conversation went on. Every once in a while, he would cock his head and say “fascinating” with such genuine, if muted, enthusiasm that it made her want to smile.

Captain Kirk, on the other hand, got a little bit more obvious about the way he was checking out her rack.

“Captain,” a thick Russian voice came over the com system, “we have a situation with the away team on the planet. It seems as though they have been taken captive. It’s difficult to understand, the translators are still working on the language, but Uhura says they have been challenged to a duel for their freedom.”

“So what’s the problem,” Kirk said easily, “isn’t Sulu with them?”

“Yes, sir,” said the voice, “but it appears the only acceptable weapon on this planet is a bow and arrow.”

Darcy could not stop herself from letting out a little snort that was half amusement and half incredulity.

Spock and Kirk both looked at her sharply.

“Something to add, Miss Lewis?” Spock asked evenly.

She looked over at Clint, who just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling like she was finally finding her footing in this situation. “Clint’ll deal with that away team situation for you. On the condition that we get a little more human comforts and a little less lock down.”

+

+

Unfortunately, as a stunningly beautiful woman on the bridge explained to her while shoving an uncomfortable but super future techy translator into her ear and pasting some sort of patch on her throat, the warrior caste on the planet below them always travelled with something between a squire and a concubine. Darcy thought it was actually rather efficient of them to combine the two.

When the Captain had suggested that Darcy be the one to tag along, Clint had looked mutinous. He had eventually agreed that he wouldn’t exactly trust that any of the Enterprise’s crew would be able to follow his lead on the ground, but Darcy still felt a bit stung by his reaction.

His reaction when he met her in the transportation room made up a lot of ground though. The computer, and yes seriously the computer could make clothes now, had done its best to replicate data on appropriate clothing.

It wasn’t very appropriate at all.

It shut Clint up for a solid five minutes while Darcy grinned triumphantly.

“So,” Kirk burst into the room, “Looks like Spock’s got a lead on your whole interdimensional issue. Looks like you’ve got yourself a bow and…” he trailed off as he caught sight of Darcy.

“Wow,” he said with an almost comical expression, “It’s a good look on you Miss Lewis,” he said with a leer that somehow managed to be charming rather than offensive. She grinned and winked at him.

“Eyes up front Captain,” Clint snapped, “she’s working a mission for you, not posing.”

“You know,” he said leaning against the wall, “you were a lot more polite when you didn’t have a bow in your hand.”

“Well,” said Clint with a grudging smile, “I wasn’t capable of shooting you between the eyes at 100 paces when I didn’t have a bow in my hand.”

+

+

Her first experience on an alien planet was not turning out to be a lot of fun. It was really really hot for one thing. Even the very small amount of clothing she was wearing was stifling. Clint had to be dying. His arms were already glistening with sweat under his thick leather-looking vest.

“Alright,” he said in a voice that made all this seem like a totally normal daily activity, “we’re just about in visual range. Hopefully they’ll send someone out to pick us up so we don’t have to walk any farther in this fucking desert.”

Sure enough, moment later the tiny little communication device in her ear told her that “three parties are incoming from the southwest.”

“Alright,” said Clint, giving her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher, “show time.”

She could see the change in demeanor, the way he rolled his shoulders back, walked with a little more swagger, the set of his mouth was stronger.

She realised, with a dull sort of shock, that this is what she was used to seeing. The front, the warrior, Hawkeye. For the last few terrifying and enlightening hours, she had been with Clint Barton, and she had hardly even noticed it.

It felt like a very unfortunate oversight, but she couldn’t really dwell on it, because his hand was now around her waist, pulling her tight against his hip, his fingers digging possessively into her exposed skin.

Oh right. Concubine. She managed to smother a gasp and pull herself together before the figures became visible over the crest of the hill.

Apparently the crazy space tech was working because the humanoid but really crazily huge alien dudes seemed to understand Clint when he spoke to them. She thought maybe they were laughing at him when he explained that he was here to compete for the prisoners. She thought maybe they would not be laughing so hard when Clint made them look like a bunch of rank amateurs.

She glared at them and wrapped herself a little closer around him, because she thought that’s what a concubine would do, but also because she wanted to.

The contest itself was actually pretty anticlimactic. All they did was set out a bunch of targets, not really all that far away. Some were pretty small. Darcy wasn’t going to say that she could hit them or anything, but she wanted to roll her eyes as the local hotshot took his place and made eight out of ten shots, turning to Clint with a challenging grin. She didn’t need the translator to tell her he was saying “beat that, asshole.”

Clint looked nervous stepping up to the mark. She knew it wasn’t about making the shots. So she started looking around. She noticed that there were an awful lot of armed men standing quite near Clint, looking pretty bloodthirsty.

She got the general impression that Clint wasn’t sure that winning was an option.

She also noticed that every time a woman passed by one of the armed men, they made way with a graceful bow. Well, she wasn’t above using misogyny when it was going to save lives.

“Wait!” she called, all eyes suddenly on her. Clint looked absolutely white faced. She stared at him, willing him to go with it. She sauntered up to him purposefully. She raised a pointed eyebrow at him as the two men standing closest to him took a respectful step back, although they didn’t look too happy about it. Clint caught the motion and his tension ratcheted down a notch. She grinned.

Although now she was going to have to come up with some reason for moving closer. She was under pressure. She had an idea. This wasn’t the time to overthink things.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She meant it to be for show, but while Clint schooled his surprise for the observers, his lips parted in a low gasp of shock and then all of a sudden his tongue was in her mouth and his hands were in her hair and she almost forgot they were facing down death on an alien planet in an alien _universe_ because that’s how good it felt to be in his arms, to be the center of his attention. Her toes were curling against her sandals and goosebumps were fluttering across her arms despite the heat. She pulled back with a moan. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“For luck,” she finally managed in a strangled voice, but loud enough for the crowd to hear. She thought maybe something about her actions had changed the mood around them. There were a few approving chuckles.

And then Clint made all ten shots dead center without a hint of trouble.

There was a long silence afterwards, and Darcy took advantage of the pause to move up close against him, but his arm was strong, holding her off.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Get out of here. Enterprise, get her out of here.”

“I’m sorry agent Barton,” came Spock’s cool voice, “We cannot beam anyone out in sight of an unsophisticated race. The prime directive states that…” Clint cut him off with a frustrated grunt but let Darcy closer. She reached up and locked her arms around his neck.

“So,” she tried to look casual, “we gonna have to fight our way out?”

“It comes to that,” he whispered back against her ear, “I’m gonna make you a hole and you’re gonna run and get the hell out of sight so you can get out of here.”

“Like hell I am,” she said, finding the knife that was lying against his left thigh and gripping the handle, “we’re a team now Barton.” He tensed under her hand, “Plus,” she forestalled his protest, “they don’t like hitting girls.”

“Stranger,” boomed the voice of the tallest and most richly adorned of the natives. “Step forward.”

“Darce,” he was looking at her, his hands were digging into her waist in a way that was almost painful. “ _Please_.” He kissed her, fierce and brief, but in a way that she felt straight through her. And then he set her back firmly on her feet, and walked towards the man who had called him. He looked confident, brave, unafraid.

She knew better. She could see the tremor in his hands.

“Take your prize,” the man said shortly. It was grudging, and the crowd was on a knife’s edge of making him take it back, but Darcy knew when to take what you were offered and run.

She walked back up to Clint, took him firmly by the hand and muttered into his ear. “Move, Clint. _Move_ , because if I pull you they’ll know something’s up.”

He snapped into motion and they had collected to away team and were headed over the hill in moments.

Clint was still gripping her hand so hard that his knuckles were white when they re-appeared in the transporter room.

He was still gripping her hand when they de-briefed with the Captain. Kirk looked at their joined hands pointedly, but whatever he saw in Clint’s face made him refrain from commenting. He was still gripping her hand when Spock pulled them into the medical bay to take a quick scan. He said he’d likely have an answer for them about whether he could reverse what had happened in an hour or so.

He was still gripping her hand when they made it back to their quarters. But he wasn’t talking to her.

“Clint,” she finally said, pulling him to a halt as the door closed behind them. “Clint,” she repeated, tugging him to face her.

He looked down at their hands and then dropped hers like he hadn’t realised he was holding it.

“Sorry,” he said dimly, not looking at her. “I’m going to change.”

She supposed it was as good an idea as any, as she looked down at her sweaty, sandy, grimy and barely there clothes. She located a comfortable slip dress in a neutral color in the closest bedroom, she had a quick shower, and then she sat down on the couch in the living room to wait Clint out.

It took a solid half hour, but the weird replicator thing that made food was in the common room, so he had to come out eventually. He was wearing loose pants of a similar fabric to her dress and his own t-shirt.

“Clint,” she said again, feeling a bit like a broken record. “Sit.”

He looked at her warily, but sat.

“Talk,” she said firmly, pulling her legs up beside her on the couch.

“About what?” he said after a moment.

She rolled her eyes, “You are completely freaking out on me. Talk about that please. Because you are the only person I know in the whole freaking universe right now and I really need you on my side.”

“I’m always on your side Darce,” he said, sounding exasperated, “I just wish that side wasn’t throwing itself recklessly into danger quite so often.”

“What choice did I have? Was I supposed to just let you die on an alien planet when I could do something about it?” she countered hotly.

“Yes,” he said, “Yeah, that’s _exactly_ what you’re supposed to do.” He was looking at her with an uncomfortable intensity.

“Well that is _bullshit_ ,” she shot back.

“It’s not bullshit Darce, it’s…” he paused, running a hand through his hair. “It’s necessary, okay?” his tone was lower, kinder this time.

“Why is it necessary Clint?” she asked, not ready to give over on this yet, “Am I really that useless to you?”

“Useless?” he looked up at her in surprise, “No. Of course not, why would you even…No. Darce, it’s because I can’t think straight when you’re in trouble.”

“Oh,” she managed to get out. And then that statement rolled into contact with the memory of the way he had kissed, right before he thought he was walking towards his death, when he didn’t have any good reason to do it. “Oh,” she said again, uncurling her legs and placing them on the floor. “So when you kissed me…”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he shrugged a little helplessly, “that first one was just for show, I know it. And if I was going to die…”

He didn’t finish, because she pressed off the couch, took one step and straddled his lap, taking his face in her hands.

“No one watching now, Barton,” she said with a grin, and pressed her lips to his.

It only took him a moment to catch up, and then his mouth was opening under hers and his tongue was pressing against her teeth, and his hands were gripping her back like she would float away if he didn’t hold on.

She pulled back with a gasp, “So how long have you been sitting on this one, Barton,” she tried to sound casual, but she didn’t think she pulled it off very well.

“A while,” he answered evenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands falling to her hips.

“Wish you’d said something earlier,” she leaned in and bit gently against his neck, the rasp of his stubble tingling under her lips.

“Why’s that,” he asked in a strained voice, she could feel his fingers clenching, feel his erection growing hard against her thigh.

“I thought you didn’t like me much,” she said rolling her hips into his and drawing out a groan, “Made me real mad about how goddam much I wanted you anyways.”

“ _Fuck_ , Darcy,” his hand pressed its way up her side, rucking up her dress, cupping her breast through the fabric.

She let out a rather indelicate grunt without meaning to as his fingers squeezed her nipple through the soft fabric of her dress. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he bent his mouth to her neck and pulled at her skin with his teeth, riding that perfect edge between pleasure and pain without even having to ask her if she liked it. She was pretty sure the noises she was making were encouragement enough.

“Interrupting something, are we?” Jim Kirk’s amused drawl came from the door which, now that she looked at it, was standing open.

“Yeah,” said Clint thickly over her shoulder, “you really are,” his hands fell to her waist though and he wasn’t pressing up against her anymore.

She let out a sigh of disappointment.

“There’s not a man in the world who would blame you,” said the captain with some feeling, “but I thought you might want to know that Spock thinks he’s figured out how to send you home.”

+

+

Darcy would have to admit, for all the weirdness of the whole alternate universe / alien planets thing, they might be better at science. Whereas the way there had been a violent and unpleasant experience, the phase shift or whatever Spock had been talking about was actually quite gentle.

It was a little bit like slipping into sleep and then all of a sudden she and Clint were standing back in the lab, exactly where they had been when the explosion sent them rocketing out of their reality.

It was dark though, and no one was around.

Darcy turned to look at Clint, blinking a bit owlishly.

“Now what?”

Thankfully the question was answered for them as they heard shouting from down the hall.

“I swear Foster, it wasn’t me!” Tony’s voice was defensive and high pitched. Darcy knew the tone well, and smiled broadly.

“Stark, I swear to god, the _last_ time you made the readings jump like this you killed my best friend.”

“I didn’t _kill_ her,” said Tony, “I’m _working_ on that.”

“Well why don’t you _work_ on…”

They both stopped stock still in the doorway. Darcy was sure she had a foolish grin on her face, but she didn’t care. She raised her hand in a little waive.

“Hey boss,” she said with a grin.

“Oh my _god,_ ”Jane exclaimed, before throwing herself around Darcy in a hug that was more fierce than her tiny frame should have been capable of.

“Jarvis?” Tony said, his eyes focused on them like a train wreck.

“Yes Sir?”

“Did I do this?”

“Not so far as I can tell, Sir.”

“It was Spock,” said Darcy a little breathlessly.

“What?” Jane squeaked, pulling away from her, “you met _people_? Where _were_ you?”

“Well, I’m not sure Spock was entirely _human_ ,” Clint, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Tony and Jane stared at him in blank shock.

“Maybe…maybe we should call everyone…” said Jane slowly.

“Jarvis?” Tony added.

“Already done, sir.”

With the first of the new arrivals, Darcy and Clint were swept up into what felt like years of debriefs and interviews and scans and health checks.

By the time she was released, Darcy was exhausted and the reality of what had happened was starting to sink in, and she hadn’t seen Clint in days, and those few brief moments on the couch in the Enterprise were starting to feel like a dream.

Her limbs felt heavy, and she couldn’t help but remember that Clint had never really said anything except that she was a distraction. She didn’t really think she wanted to be Clint’s distraction. Now that she knew what it was like, she wanted to be something closer to his focus.

She collapsed into bed, clutching a pillow and trying not to think. Thankfully, exhaustion won out and she drifted off.

+

+

She woke blearily to the sound of a soft tapping at the door to her suite. The sun was up, and it didn’t look like it was early morning. She pushed herself stiffly up on her elbows.

“Jarvis,” she asked scratchily, “do I have to answer the door?”

“I believe that is a matter of personal choice Miss Lewis,” said Jarvis softly, “but if it helps, Agent Barton was standing outside your door for a considerable length of time before he knocked.”

Darcy suddenly felt much more awake.

“Oh,” she said, swinging her feet off the side of her bed at once, “thanks Jarvis.”

She realised, just as her hand was on the door, that she was probably not looking her best, with her bed hair and her shorts and tank. She blew out a breath. Well, he’d already seen her vomit. It couldn’t get any worse than that, right?

She opened the door.

Her first thought was that he looked tired.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice, “I just…uh. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He shrugged a bit helplessly.

“You want to come in?” she asked, not sure how to get from this awkward place to somewhere closer to how it felt to have his hands on her skin.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a few steps in as she stepped back to give him space to enter and then closed the door behind him.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“So,” said Darcy finally, “On a scale of one to ten of weirdness, where does that whole experience fall on your scale?”

“Probably an eight,” said Clint with an absent twitch of a smile, “no permanent damage. Met some nice people, got some great target practice.” He paused, “You didn’t come find me.”

Darcy blinked at him. “What?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, “after they released you, I thought maybe you’d…” he shrugged, looking down at the floor.

“Oh,” said Darcy, a slow feeling up warmth creeping upwards from her gut. “I think maybe I had too much time to overthink things.”

Clint blew out a breath, “Yeah,” he gave her a self-deprecating shrug, “I get that. We can just forget about it…”

Darcy laughed, mostly in surprise and a little bit at how _bad_ they were at this. She felt bad about it, because Clint didn’t seem to be on the same page at all, and he was wincing a little at her laugh. “No,” she said, stepping forward to wrap a hand around his wrist. “I don’t want to forget about it.”

He turned his hand over to wrap his fingers around hers.

“It’s just,” Darcy went on, struggling to defeat her worst instincts and finally be _plain_ with him. “We spent a long time being…at cross purposes,” she grinned as he let out a snort of laughter, “and we were just in a really stressful situation, and I kept running over and over those few moment on the couch,” his fingers tightened against hers and he took a step closer, “and you really _said_ was that I was…distracting.”

“Oh honey,” he said with a grin, close enough now that she could feel the heat of him as he brushed her hair behind her ear, “you _are_ distracting. Only person I know who could make me miss a shot.”

“I’m not…good at this stuff,” she said, trying to hold to her determination to make herself clear before she gave in to the ever growing urge to shut up and kiss him. “But I have to.... If all you want from me is…a distraction, then I…then I don’t want it.”

“So you’re saying,” said Clint in a low and even voice, “that you want to be my _girlfriend_?”

She looked up at him, and immediately recognised the shit eating grin playing around the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously? You’re gonna use this moment to make fun of me?” she smacked him on the arm.

“Darce,” he said, the grin slipping of his face, “you can be whatever you want, so long as you’re mine.”

She smiled at him, “I suppose I could be okay with that.”

“How do you feel about ‘pain in the ass’ as a title,” he shot back, but he was staring at her mouth with an incredible kind of focus.

“Shut up,” she said, her hand wrapping around his neck to pull his lips down against hers.

“So,” he pulled back breathlessly, his forehead falling against hers, “Are you free tomorrow night? Cuz Stark bet me $300 you’d never give me a chance, and that could buy us a pretty nice dinner.”

“I’m free,” she said, her hand curling around his hip. “But I’d much rather stay in.”

“See,” he said, pulling her flush against his hips, his fingers tangling in her hair, “we’re gonna get along just fine.”


End file.
